When the day’s noise overtakes the still of now, I imagine my mother’s lens. It shows me moments of nature.
She chases light that burns red and orange onto ripples of water and paints ducks to the shore. Framed in her eye is a canvas that captures patterns designed by time and presence to share with those who blink.
And I blink all too often, caught in busy work – blind to waves that froth to fury against rock’s edge – deaf to quiet moments by a pond where reeds reflect and water lilies open.
She is my mother – more than
that – an inspiration, a path. Wisdom. If I follow her gaze that “scans the horizon for beauty,” I’ll surely find rhythm and rest and more than me.